


do you know how i feel?

by strangetowns



Category: Lovely Little Losers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 05:32:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5404877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangetowns/pseuds/strangetowns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And when you kiss – the pull of his mouth on yours like a planet and its moon, falling into each other as easily as taking a breath – it doesn’t feel like a beginning; it feels like an end to all of the uncertainty and all of the space between you, an end to the darkest of your thoughts and an end to the worst of your dreams. It feels almost too easy. For once, it feels like enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	do you know how i feel?

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively: something silly and quick to celebrate Peter and Balthazar's 4-ish day anniversary because honestly I'm still not over it :']
> 
> As always, thank you to [Lydia](http://peterdonalduck.tumblr.com/) for the beta'ing. Inspired by Vance Joy's “[Snaggletooth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JSW3TRwrmWc)”.

When Balthazar turns to look at you – just the two of you now, none of the rest of your friends separating your words from each other, nothing in the way except for your own hesitation – you can see, in his eyes, that finally you’ve gotten this, the timing of it, the both of you, right.

“You watched the video,” you say. Your voice doesn’t shake.

“Yeah,” he says, carefully, on a measured breath. You don’t mind his hesitance. You’d wait for him for as long as he needs, and you can; right now, right this moment, you have all the time in the world on your side. You’re not leaving any time soon.

“I love you.”

The words send a thrill down your spine, unbidden. As often as they’ve been on your mind in the last few days, this is still the first time you’ve said them out loud. They sound strange, wonderfully strange to your ears, but it’s what he needs to hear, and what you need to say. You’ve never been so certain of anything in your life, this truth you’ve struggled to understand for so long, though you know now that you never really needed to try. It’s always been there, and so has he.

“I kind of love you too,” he says. His hands do not tremble.

“Kind of?” you say, despite yourself, but you smile, and already you can feel yourself moving toward him.

“Kind of a lot, yeah,” he says, the grin blooming across his face slow and sweet. And when you kiss – the pull of his mouth on yours like a planet and its moon, falling into each other as easily as taking a breath – it doesn’t feel like a beginning; it feels like an end to all of the uncertainty and all of the space between you, an end to the darkest of your thoughts and an end to the worst of your dreams. It feels almost too easy. For once, it feels like enough.

-

When you get back inside, leaving the rest of them out there, your knees weak from how good and how _right_ it is to be holding him in your arms, you let yourselves collapse on a couch. He curls into your side, as if by instinct. You already hate the idea of letting him go; you’ve spent a whole lifetime apart, it feels like.

“So is this it, then?” you say, voice barely louder than a whisper. He’s close enough for you to feel his pulse, light and fast against your skin; you don’t need to shout.

“What d’you mean?” he says, blinking slowly at you. He takes hold of your hand, sliding his fingers effortlessly into the spaces between yours and squeezing gently. You stare at your interlocked hands; they fit better than you could have ever imagined.

“Are we doing this?” you say. “Together?”

He looks at you, a smile in his eyes.

“Yeah, I reckon so,” he says, and he lifts your hand up to his mouth and presses a kiss to your knuckles. Your breath hitches in your throat. “Together,” he whispers. His breath tingles against your skin.

“I love you,” you say, honestly. The words still sound foreign to your ears, and you’re not sure if you’ll ever be used to it, but you can’t hold them back, not in moments like this when keeping them to yourself would be harder than letting them go.

His eyes crinkle. “I love you, too,” he says, surer than before, “but we should really stop cuddling on Vegan Fred’s couch. It’s not polite.”

You stand up with a laugh, hands still intertwined. “Are you staying here, then? Tonight, I mean?”

“I suppose,” he says, and despite your best efforts disappointment floods your guts. He has the right to stay wherever he wishes, you remind yourself. And there’s no point in rushing things now.

“Would you – would you ever consider moving back in?” you say. You almost want to punch yourself, for finding declarations like “I love you” easier than this.

He squeezes your hand; when his eyes catch onto yours this time they don’t let go.

“Yeah,” he says, almost casually. “It’s home, isn’t it?”

You haven’t ever heard him refer to the flat in those terms, but it sounds right to you. It sounds like the truth.

“Anyway,” he says, turning away and rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “I’d hate to impose on Vegan Fred more than I already have.”

“No, it wouldn’t be polite,” you say. You’re not breathless, but you feel like you should be. You feel like this boy, this staggeringly beautiful boy, should take your breath away every second you’re with him.

He grins at you. It’s not a smile you’ve ever seen on his face before. Maybe it’s the kind of smile he gives when he knows he shouldn’t hold a damn thing back.

“I’ll miss you tonight,” you say. You almost feel silly, saying it. You’ve only been together for about ten minutes. And yet, as soon as you think it, you know that’s not true. You’ve been together for a lot longer than that.

He kisses you again, longer and more tender without any cameras around. When you pull away, he stays close enough for you to feel his smile against your mouth, and his whisper - “Me too.”

-

In the morning when you wake up, in your bed with the sunshine streaming in softly through the curtains, for exactly two seconds you don’t remember.

And then everything comes rushing back into your head, the kisses and the hugs and him and _together_ , and you can’t stop yourself from smiling at it all. You shouldn’t, anyway, shouldn’t stop yourself, because the thought of him makes you happy, and you decided a while ago that you’d stop preventing yourself from feeling happy. You’re so stupidly, madly in love, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You reach for your phone and check your messages.

 **From: Balthazar Jones**  
_Good morning :)_

God, this boy makes you so damn happy.

 **To: Balthazar Jones**  
_Morning sunshine_

And then you thumb the call button next to his name, because you can’t wait for a response and because it’s felt like too long since the last time you heard his voice and also because you’re not a terribly rational human being in the morning and none of these thoughts make much sense but you can’t even bring yourself to care.

“’Lo?” His voice rasps over the phone receiver. He sounds barely awake. You think about his hair in an enigmatic cloud around his head, rubbing at his eyes sleepily; your heart swells.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” you say. “You did text me first.”

“Nah. Just dozing.”

“I know this is kind of silly, but can I just say something?” you say.

“Mm?”

“Stanley Balthazar Jones, I love you.”

He breathes a laugh. “I love you too, Peter Adrian Donaldson.”

Since yesterday, you’ve said it and heard it quite a few times, in person and over text. But it seems, no matter how many times it happens, the warmth that bursts in your stomach at the sound of it doesn’t get any colder.

“So… can I go back to sleep now?”

“Hey, I thought you said I didn’t wake you up!” you protest.

“Good bye now,” he says, laughing. “Talk to you later?”

“Of course,” you say with a smile. “Sleep well.” When you get off the phone, the smile doesn’t go away.

-

It doesn’t take very long to move Balthazar back into the flat. Most of his things are already there, anyway, and the whole flat’s decided to help him with his bags.

When you’ve moved the last of his bags into his room, though, it’s just you and him. He sits down on the bed. “I didn’t realize I’d missed this bed until now,” he comments, patting the bedspread lightly.

“I thought Vegan Fred’s had thousand-thread-count sheets,” you tease, sitting next to him. Your legs press against each other.

“Yeah, but they’re not here, are they?” Balthazar says, knocking his knee against yours.

“On my leg, you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he says, a ghost of a smile hovering on his lips.

“Yeah,” you say, letting yourself grow serious. “So you’re glad to be back here, then?”

He nods. “Yeah, yeah.” He falls backward onto the bed, stretching his arms out on either side of him. “I’m glad.”

You let yourself fall, too, and you don’t flinch when you land against his arm. He curls it around you almost immediately, pressing you closer. “So am I.”

When you turn your head to look at him, he’s already looking at you. It takes only a second to lean in, and like all the times before you do it together. You decide somewhere in the middle of it you probably won’t ever get tired of the warmth of his lips on yours, how easy it is to move with him without even really thinking, how kissing him feels less like a conscious choice and more like an instinct.

Breaking away from him never feels like a mistake, either. It’s not just about the kissing, as good as it makes you feel. It’s about giving the both of you the space to talk, and to breathe. That’s important, too.

“I missed you when you were gone,” you say. “More than I could ever say.”

“I missed you too. Even when I didn’t want to. Or feel like I had the right to.” He reaches out with the hand that isn’t pinned for yours. Your fingers lock together, and he pulls your hands up into the space between the two of you. It should, by all means, be awkward; it’s not. “I think, all in all, leaving wasn’t a bad thing. It happened so fast, though.”

“Talking about it more might have helped,” you agree. “But I feel like that applies to everything about us, really. Talking might have helped.”

“Maybe.” It does something to your heart, the fact that he won’t look away from you now, almost refuses to, like he’s drinking in your gaze. “We’re talking now, aren’t we?”

You smile. “Of sorts,” you say, and kiss him again, and again. You won’t get tired of kissing, or of talking. You have a long time for both, all the time either of you want. To kiss under stars, or under blankets; to talk about all the ways you can support each other, all the things the both of you got wrong before and all the things you’re going to get right one day. You want it all, so much your heart feels like it’s going to burst in your chest.

“I love you,” you whisper. You can’t stop yourself from smiling. It’s the truest thing you could ever say, and you can’t imagine yourself ever wanting to stop, not in the near future, anyway.

“Love you, too,” he whispers back. “A lot.”

“Yeah? How much is a lot?”

He stretches your arms into the air. “This much,” he says, and he grins, and it’s the most beautiful, wonderful thing you’ve seen all day.

“I can’t believe I got stuck with such a loser,” you say, laughing.

“Yeah?” He surges forward and kisses you hard, so hard you forget all the things you were going to say, and you let him roll on top of you. His fingers are still tangled with yours, as he kisses you senseless.

Seconds, minutes, maybe hours later, he pulls away, the look in his eyes warm and sweet. “Who’s the loser now?” he says, smiling so brightly you can’t even be mad.

“Still you,” you say, and when you reach up to pull him into a long embrace, he lets you.

-

“I love you,” you say, every chance you can get. You’re not making up for a single thing.

 


End file.
